it is very dreadful to kill. I had one day to
slaughter a sheep, and even that made me half mad. I have not destroyed
any living soul; why then do those villains kill me? I have done no harm
to anybody . . ."

"That will be taken into consideration."

"By whom?"

"By God, to be sure."

"I have not seen anything yet showing that God exists, and I don't
believe in Him, brother. I think when a man dies, grass will grow over
the spot, and that is the end of it."

"You are wrong to think like that. I have murdered so many people,
whereas she, poor soul, was helping everybody. And you think she and I
are to have the same lot? Oh no! Only wait."

"Then you believe the soul lives on after a man is dead?"

"To be sure; it truly lives."

Prokofy suffered greatly when death drew near. He could hardly breathe.
But in the very last hour he felt suddenly relieved from all pain. He
called Stepan to him. "Farewell, brother," he said. "Death has come, I
see. I was so afraid of it before. And now I don't mind. I only wish it
to come quicker."

XVI

IN the meanwhile, the affairs of Eugene Mihailovich had grown worse and
worse. Business was very slack. There was a new shop in the town; he was
losing his customers, and the interest had to be paid. He borrowed again
on interest. At last his shop and his goods were to be sold up. Eugene
Mihailovich and his wife applied to every one they knew, but they
could not raise the four hundred roubles they needed to save the shop
anywhere.

They had some hope of the merchant Krasnopuzov, Eugene Mihailovich's
wife being on good terms with his mistress. But news came that
Krasnopuzov had been robbed of a huge sum of money. Some said of half
a million roubles. "And do you know who is said to be the thief?" said
Eugene Mihailovich to his wife. "Vassily, our former yard-porter. They
say he is squandering the money, and the police are bribed by him."

"I knew he was a villain. You remember how he did not mind perjuring
himself? But I did not expect it would go so far."

"I hear he has recently been in the courtyard of our house. Cook says
she is sure it was he. She told me he helps poor girls to get married."

"They always invent tales. I don't believe it."

At that moment a strange man, shabbily dressed, entered the shop.

"What is it you want?"

"Here is a letter for you."

"From whom?"

"You will see yourself."

"Don't you require an answer? Wait a moment."

"I cannot." The